


Brother Mine

by maisy_daisy



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Family Abuse, Family Healing, Gen, Not Incest, Other, angst siblings, brothers kinda hate each other but they can have a little bit of bonding as a treat, fuck drake all my homies hate drake, someone just give Aaron a hug Jesus christ
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:21:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24872986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maisy_daisy/pseuds/maisy_daisy
Summary: Aaron didn't ask for much. He definitely didn't ask for a brother. But the universe had other plans. And so did Andrew.
Relationships: Aaron Minyard & Andrew Minyard
Comments: 2
Kudos: 48





	Brother Mine

**Author's Note:**

> CW: mentions of Tilda's abusive treatment; drug abuse implications; mentions of the Drake incident. Written for my ever amazing friend Mercury (@ leloqier on Tumblr/ao3) to the backing soundtrack of 'Brother' by Simon Alexander.

“Aaron, meet your brother. Andrew.”

The boy peaked his head from out behind Tilda, sharp gaze scrutinizing the near reflection in front of him. But it wasn’t _him_ , it was…a stranger. Another boy with his face.

_Brother_. Yeah, right.

“We’ve already met,” Aaron muttered.

“We haven’t,” Andrew assured.

Higgins raised a brow at the boy’s mother as if to say _your problem now._

“Why is he here?” Aaron asked the next morning. The bags under his eyes were sure proof of his lack of sleep, but how could he be expected to with the monster down the hall? “Can’t we send him back to juvie?”

“Aaron,” Tilda said sharply. “That’s not appropriate.”

“Neither is seperating your children at birth,” he responded before his brain could catch up to the decision. He blamed the mistake on his drowsiness, need for sleep clouding his judgement. When Tilda’s hand connected with his cheek, he barely even registered the impact. It was his fault, after all. Right? Right.

Andrew watched the scene from the top of the staircase. By the time he realized what Tilda meant to do, he was too far to stop her hand. He would’ve broken it if he could.

Later that night, Andrew rummaged through the fridge for food.

“Hungry?” Tilda asked unnecessarily. She placed her hand on the fridge rim, looking at the boy expectedly. Andrew didn’t respond as he cracked open the tub of butter and began spooning out chunks with his hand.

“Want some bread with that?” Still no response. He didn’t even look at her. Tilda cocked her head at the silence, familiar eyes raking over the son she’d never gotten a chance to know. _God_ , he looked like his brother.

All thoughts of his resemblance escaped her mind, however, when the fridge door slammed shut, her hand still trapped mercilessly between the rim and the door. Her choked cry was ignored when Andrew turned on his heel, tub of butter still cradled in his arms like a newborn.

Aaron gaped from the hallway, hidden in the shadows for the moment.

_Okay, brother_ , he thought. _Okay, then._

The months passed and the tension grew. Andrew almost never talked, and when he did, it was to argue with Tilda or answer the mandatory questions from his parole officers. When Aaron started using, he thought he kept the evidence hidden well enough. But, alas. No luck.

“What is this?” Andrew wondered, voice too pleasant compared to the flare in his eyes. He held up the empty prescription bottle and shook it. “I didn’t know you were loony, brother mine.”

“Fuck off.” Aaron lunged forward to grab the bottle, but Andrew stepped around him like a wrestler sizing up his opponent. “Give it back.”

“Or what?” Andrew demanded. “Gonna tell mommy on me? Gonna tattle? That I stole what you stole from her?”

“Fuck _off_ ,” Aaron said again. “And she’s not your mom, freak.”

“No, she’s not.” The easy agreement caught Aaron off guard but it really shouldn’t have. “She’s a pest.”  
  
Aaron flushed. New energy soared through him and all thoughts about the bottle were swept aside. Andrew, of all things, truly didn’t expect Aaron to tackle him, but that’s exactly what happened.

“What the hell is going on in here?”  
  
Like they’d been electrically shocked, the boys immediately broke apart. “Nothing,” they said in unison. They scowled at each other.

Tilda crossed her arms but started when she saw what was in Andrew’s hand. “What is that? Who the hell do you think you are stealing my stuff?”

Andrew let Tilda tear the bottle from his hand, eyes never leaving Aaron. His twin had gotten a good knock at Andrew’s cheekbone. He could feel the bruise forming like a familiar touch.

“I should call Higgins right now,” Tilda went on. Her threats were yawn-worthy at this point. Why hand over a body to be beaten when you can just do it yourself? DIY discipline with Tilda Minyard. Andrew can’t suppress his masochistic smile at the thought.

“What’s so funny, mister?” Tilda shook her head. _Who the fuck says mister?_ “That’s it, I’m calling Higgins.”

“Mom—“ Aaron started but Andrew wouldn’t allow it.

“Blow him a kiss for me, would ya?” Andrew chirped. He wanted to rub his cheek— _god_ damn _he can punch for being a stick_ —but juvie had long dealt him worse and he didn’t want to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing a weakness. Tilda only threw him one last death glare before stalking from the room.

“Why did you do that?” Aaron asked after. “You didn’t steal the damn pills.”  
  
“Thanks, captain obvious. I had no idea.” Andrew gave in to the temptation and touched his cheekbone lightly. “And fuck you very much.”

“Yeah, same to you,” Aaron said but his eyes fell to Andrew’s hand. He shouldn’t ask but… “Are you—you should ice that. We have a bag of frozen peas, I think.”  
  
“I’m sure you have a lot of experience with this,” Andrew tutted and he didn’t miss the pained look that took over Aaron’s expression. “Mother dearest is so trigger happy, isn’t she?”

“Don’t talk about her,” Aaron said but his voice was weak. Andrew always wondered when Aaron stopped believing his own lies. “You don’t understand us.”

_No, I don’t understand you_ , Andrew thought but what he said was, “Okay.”

It wasn’t until after Andrew retried his pea bag and retreated into his room that Aaron realized Andrew had never tried to fight him back.

When Tilda died, Aaron cried.

No, not died. _Murdered_. She was murdered.

Her own son—his fucking _brother_ , for God’s sake—killed their mother in cold blood.

But.

But she’s not his mother. Not really.

But.

But he’s not my brother. Not really.

But.

But it wasn’t cold blood. Not really.

_Yes it was, yes it was,_ children don’t just _kill_ their parents no matter how justified they think—

But he was justified, wasn’t he?

But Andrew never actually admitted to killing Tilda. To mom.

But I _know_ he did I know it was him I see it in his _eyes_.

But why do I care? I was so scared she was going to kill me—

But. But. But.

Too many uncertainties. Too many arguments with himself. Too many but’s.

“I’ll never forgive you,” Aaron said to Andrew.

His reflection took a drag of his cigarette before responding. Aaron can’t remember when Andrew started smoking. He hates the smell. They both do.

“I don’t expect you to understand us.”

Aaron stills at the mimicry and he wants to cry again. He can’t remember when the tears stopped flowing. He can’t tell if was crying from heartbreak or relief. Maybe both. Definitely both.

“I hate you,” Aaron spat and his voice cracked and his face broke along with it and the tears came back again and it hurts oh God it _hurts_ why does it all fucking _hurt_ —

“I know,” Andrew said. His own voice was soft, bored. He took his brother’s face in his hands and as much as Aaron wanted to push and kick and scream away from him, he allowed the touch. Maybe Andrew would hit him and knock him out of his misery.

But Andrew did none of that. He simply held onto Aaron as Aaron cried, not sure who he was mourning for anymore. His mom? The brother he’d never have? Himself?

“You’re stuck with me anyway,” Andrew continued, not unkindly. “I promised I wouldn’t let her hurt you. That extends to anyone else, too.”

“ _Why?_ ” Aaron choked out between sobs. He distantly reasoned that Nicky could probably hear him from downstairs but his shame had currently left the chat. “Why me?”

“You’re my brother,” Andrew said. “And I don’t let people hurt what is mine.”  
  
Aaron only clung to Andrew tighter, but if you asked anyone who saw the two, they wouldn’t be able to tell you who was holding on to who more.

It took years to heal. It’s still taking years and it will take many more. Aaron doesn’t know if he ever forgave Andrew for what Andrew did. But Aaron also not sure if he even still cares.

When the Drake Incident happened, Aaron thought he was finally done. That he’d officially given up on the world and all her dusty cracked pearls.   
  
_Haven’t we seen enough?_ He wanted to demand of God. But God was preoccupied.

_Hasn’t he been through enough?_

“You’re not my brother,” Aaron had once told Andrew during one of their many fights. ‘Fights’ is being generous, though. As the years went on, it more resembled pathetic yelling on Aaron’s part and disinterested looks from Andrew.

“How many times will you have to say that until you start to believe it?” Andrew had asked.

“As much as it takes.”  
  
“Bullshit, brother mine.”

The petty argument was the first thing that popped up in Aaron’s mind when the door opened and the sight of Drake and Andrew—his brother _my brother that’s_ my _brother oh God get the FUCK OFF MY BROTHER_ —sent Aaron into autopilot. Before he knew it he was covered in blood and holding any exy racquet he didn’t remember picking up and—

Andrew.

Andrew.

Andrew.

“Brother.”

The racquet dropped. The blood ignored. The body forgotten. Aaron more fell than sat onto the bed, hands reaching for Andrew at the same time Andrew reached for him. Two halves of the same puzzle, two opposing magnets.

Brother. Brother. Brother.

But if you asked either of them after, they wouldn’t be able to tell you who was holding on to who more.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! terrorize me on tumblr at @ravens-play-exy-too


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